


Untitled Drabble

by captain_iodine (orphan_account)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Reader-Insert, intoxicated dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8596132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/captain_iodine
Summary: A little drabble for a prompt left by maltafiir over on tumblr. Warnings for intoxicated characters, but then this is Hancock we're talking about here.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little drabble for a prompt left by [maltafiir](http://maltafiir.tumblr.com) over on [tumblr](http://captain-iodine.tumblr.com/post/153391569588/this-may-sound-odd-but-could-i-get-18-with-hancock). 
> 
> Warnings for intoxicated characters, but then this _is_ Hancock we're talking about here.

You're a little uneasy on your feet as you totter out of the Third Rail. Tipsy — well, probably a few drinks past tipsy by now, but who's counting? 

Hancock isn't far behind you, his gravelly voice following you out the door: ‘What's the rush? The night is young.’

And maybe it is, but your head is spinning and it was just a little too loud down there in that old railway station, just a little too crowded. 

You lean back against the wall across from the entrance to the bar, waiting for him to emerge. When he does, he all but dances out into the night air in a flutter of red coat tails. 

With as many drinks as you've got under your belt you can't imagine being so lively, so carefree, but there he is. Good old John Hancock, always the life of the party — even when the party is a pair of friends in the gutter.  
When he gets close you realize there's more on him than the beer and the whiskey. He's high as a kite, but what's new there? 

He comes over and he's just as wobbly as you were, maybe a little worse off, but he masks it with his usual swagger. When he gets to your side he slings an arm around your shoulders and leans in close. 

‘You're not calling it a night, are you?’ he asks, and his words are warmth and whiskey against your neck. 

You shiver a little in spite of yourself. It’s not unpleasant, him being this close. You just wish it didn’t always happen when he’s high.

Suddenly he’s grabbing your hand and tugging you along — not back to the Third Rail, but in the direction of the main square.

‘The fun don’t stop until we drop,’ he sings, and he’s pulling you out into the square and dancing with you, twirling you around like some debonair couple in a pre-war movie.

Your skirt spins around you in a whirlwind of colour and everywhere you look you see lights — bright white and sultry red, buzzing fluorescent and glowing neon. You think maybe you’re laughing as he pulls you in close and takes you through the steps of a haphazard tango.

You're not sure any more if it's the booze thrumming through your veins or if you're just drunk on _him_ , and all the while he keeps your hand tightly clasped in his own, never once letting go.


End file.
